


Inspired Folly

by muse2write



Category: Perfect Harmony (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fix-It, Hopefully we get a Season 2, Older Man/Younger Woman, One Shot, Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-28
Updated: 2020-01-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:21:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22444768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/muse2write/pseuds/muse2write
Summary: Set after the season 1 finale. Ginny is in Lexington. She and Arthur reunite, and work through some unresolved feelings.
Relationships: Arthur Cochran/Ginny (Perfect Harmony)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 22





	Inspired Folly

**Author's Note:**

> “She is immensely interested in him. She has even secret mischievous moments in which she wishes she could get him alone, on a desert island, away from all ties and with nobody else in the world to consider, and just drag him off his pedestal and see him making love like any common man.”  
> ~ “Postscript to Pygmalion,” George Bernard Shaw, 1916

It’s the weekend before the Derby, and Ginny is sequestered in her office, wondering how many more times she will hear “whoa there, filly, hold your horses!” and obnoxious laughter as she charges from one crisis to another, when Jan sticks her head around the doorframe. Her nose is scrunched up, her glasses pressing against her cheekbones, which means she’s annoyed. 

“Ginny.” 

The sound of her name rouses Ginny from where she is staring at the latest report, trying not to pull her hair out and wondering—not for the first time—why Brian chose this weekend to go on vacation and leave her in charge. 

“What’s up, Jan?” She tries to inject as much sunshine into her voice as she can—Lord help her, but she wants to be the kind of assistant manager who stays positive, no matter what happens—but she’s afraid that the smile she gives Jan is bordering on manic. From the way the younger woman straightens and steps away from the doorframe, it is. 

“Someone’s at the desk, asking for a manager.” Her brow furrows now, and her nose relaxes so she can roll her eyes. “This time, he’s complaining about how the water in his room is filtered.” 

_Lord, why? Why me?_ Sighing, Ginny shoves herself away from her desk and straightens her blazer—the same blazer she wore in the rude interview that got her this job—and gives Jan a hopefully less manic, more tired smile. “Thanks, I’ll take care of it.” 

_Shoulders back, head high, fire in the belly._

Plastering best customer service smile on her face, Ginny rounds the corner from her office in an easy stride that says “you’re important, but I’m not rushing to bow to you.”  
“I’m sorry your stay isn’t as wonderful as you hoped, sir,” she says, as sweet as her Gram-Gram’s iced tea, “but please tell me what—” 

She finally looks up and stops dead, squeaking mid-sentence. 

Arthur Cochran is standing at the desk, far more casual and comfortable than he has any right to be. 

_Her_ Arthur Cochran, the one who stumbled drunkenly into her life, babbling about music and Princeton, and who had awkwardly shuffled out of it, during those uncomfortable days before she left Conley Fork, when she didn’t know how to express herself, and he certainly wasn’t going to. 

Stubborn man. 

“Arthur.” Her breath catches and she sounds weaker than she means to, but dammit, she feels like someone punched her in the chest. 

There’s the shadow of a smile under his beard, and he nods, straightening from where he been leaning on the counter, the ends of his scarf brushing it. “Ginny.” 

“What are you doing here?” Instinct kicks in, and Ginny scans the lobby, expecting Jax to pop out from somewhere, followed by Dwayne and Wayne and—her heart twists—Adams, and everyone else in the choir. “Is there a choir event in town?” 

Arthur snorts, and his dark eyes never stray from her. “No. I’m here to pick up some new sheet music. Do you really think the CD section of Wal-Mart that Conley Forks calls a ‘music store’ would have what I need to teach a choir?” He shakes his head. 

“Oh.” Ginny never thought of where the sheet music came from—it just appeared, and she had always assumed it was something Arthur had with him. 

“I always come to Lexington to pick up my music. I don’t trust the mailman to find my boat, or not accidentally toss the music into the water.” Arthur is still talking, and Ginny blinks, coming back to the conversation. She suddenly remembers what Jan had said, and lurches towards the computer at the desk, shaking the mouse to goad the monitors to life. 

“Wait,” she says, holding up a hand to halt Arthur’s tirade about the woes of small-town living, and to her surprise, he subsides. She stares at the screen, then up at him. “You’re staying here?” How did she miss this? There it is in black and white: _A. Cochran._ How did she miss that he was going to be here? According to his reservation, it’s for one night only, and his checkout is at eleven o’clock tomorrow morning. 

“Yeah.” Arthur imparts this earth-shattering news as if it’s the most normal thing to happen to her today, and oh, he has no idea. “Why would I pass up the chance to spend some time in the closest thing to _city living_ I’m going to find in this place?” 

Arthur is staying _here._ In her hotel. When she hasn’t seen him in months. When is the last time she was in Conley Forks?

Arthur shifts, and for the first time, something like an uncomfortable expression crosses his face. “Listen, if you’d rather I leave you alone while I’m here…” 

“No,” Ginny blurts, and Jesus help her, but she blushes hard as Arthur’s eyebrow rises in the hooked slant that he uses so effectively. “Do you…do you wanna get drinks tonight?” 

She’s surprised him; she can tell by the way he rocks back on his heels and almost-frowns for a moment. Before she can recall the words and swallow them, to fall all over herself and apologize, it was a stupid idea, she shouldn’t have said anything—

“Sure.” 

Now it’s her turn to look surprised, and he jerks his head towards the bar across the lobby. “What time?” 

“Not here!” Ginny blurts, her blush rising again, and oh my God, she’s going to die of mortification before this conversation is over. It would be just her luck, being seen out drinking by her coworkers. “I know a place.” 

This time, Arthur’s eyebrow rises again, but not as high, and Ginny nabs one of her business cards (business cards! She has business cards!) and jots the address on that back before sliding it across the desk, wishing her blush would fade. 

Arthur takes it without another word and pockets it, nodding before striding away, and Ginny finds her gaze snagged on the line of his shoulders beneath his blazer. 

She turns to find Jan staring at her, eyes wide behind her glasses. “Did you just agree to go on a date with that guy?” 

***  
Ginny is late, because of course she’s late. It’s been that kind of a day. 

She does not have time for this, but that doesn’t stop her from standing in front of her closet and tugging on her fourteenth outfit. The one good thing she can say about being an assistant manager is that she finally has the extra cash to splurge on cute clothes now and then. 

But…does she really want to waste The Dress on Arthur?

_The Dress,_ the dress she currently tugging over her head, the one she bought for her first real date with a man her age who is not Wayne or someone she grew up with that she has next Saturday. She runs her hands down the long lace sleeves, and smooths down the skirt that is a little short, if she’s looking at it as a mother of one and the assistant manager of a respectable hotel. Which is she is.

What does it matter if Arthur sees her in this dress, she decides, as she slides her feet into a pair of strappy silver heels? She wants to look nice for _herself,_ she decides as she puts on a pale pink lipstick with the hint of a shimmer and pins her hair back. If Arthur appreciates it, well…would that be so bad? 

Of course, Arthur is already there when she gets to the bar; she recognizes his car as she picks her way across the parking lot. It’s a cozy wood building with an unassuming neon sign beside it, and in the dark, its windows glow yellow with warmth. 

She slips inside and is immediately glad she picked this place instead of the dive that Jan occasionally talks her into visiting, a place with concrete floors and peeling leather chairs and too loud music. 

This bar has more of a country club feel—the tables are polished rounds of wood, and rustic lanterns hang from the ceiling. There is music playing softly in the background, and Ginny isn’t sure what it is, but it doesn’t immediately assault her eardrums. 

She heads towards the bar, nodding to the bartender—she’s come here several times when Cash is with his dad in Conley Fork, wanting to be around people but not to talk; Jim’s good for that—and ignoring the glances she can feel being sent her way. 

Arthur is at the bar, wearing the same thing she saw him in earlier that day—blazer, button-up, and scarf—but in the lower lighting of the bar, it takes on an elegance that suddenly screams _suave_ instead of _snob._

Ginny swallows, her throat dry, and then tries to clear it as she says Arthur’s name. It comes out in an awkward cough, and Arthur turns in time to watch her slide her long coat off, revealing The Dress. 

His tumbler of whiskey stands alone on the bar as he watches her coat fall away, his dark eyes following the curve-hugging lines of her dark green dress. He takes in the skirt, the long sleeves, the deep vee in front, mirrored in back, that shows off much more than she initially thought it did, and then his eyes meet hers. 

That damned eyebrow rises in that slant again, but all he says is “Lexington suits you.” 

For some reason, that simple sentence flushes her with the same pride she used to feel when she hit a note perfectly, and she could see the appreciation in his gaze from where he stood in the back of the church during practice.

She slings her coat over an empty stool and slides onto the one next to Arthur. Jim slides her usual—bourbon, neat—in front of her without a word, and Arthur’s other eyebrow rises to match the first. “Come here often?” 

Ginny downs the bourbon in one long swallow, enjoying the smooth slide down her throat, and enjoying even more the way Arthur’s eyes go wide. She gives him a smirk, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “A few.” 

Her voice is a little rough from the drink she just knocked back—oh, it’s going to burn, but it’s worth it for the way Arthur’s eyes darken, and she sees heat begin to flicker there. 

All teasing and snarking aside, Ginny forgot how easy it is to _talk_ to Arthur. She’s still getting her feet underneath her in Lexington—with her job, with getting to know her coworkers, with working out where she belongs in this new part of the world. 

Arthur is full of news—of Jax, of the choir, of his houseboat springing a leak and becoming infested with a family of raccoons—and his stories of how he tried to trap the raccoons has Ginny laughing until she’s nearly doubled over the bar. 

One drink becomes two, becomes three, and then Ginny shakes her head at Jim, who comes over to collect their glasses, because he knows her limit, and she’s dangerously close to not being able to drive home. 

And then it’s Ginny’s turn to tell stories as the night grows around them, and the crowd in the bar ebbs and flows: of her first days in the hotel, when she kept getting hopelessly lost, of all the things she would never encounter at the Moonbow (the number of sex dolls she’s found is atrocious, but she takes pride in surprising a sincere laugh out of Arthur with the story of how a bachelor party left a chicken and goat behind in their room when they left, terrifying the maids.) Of the church she’s joined (she knows Arthur will tell Jax) but not that she’s thinking of joining the choir. (It feels too much like cheating.)

It’s late when they finally gather their coats, and Arthur surprises her by helping her into hers, his hands warm on her shoulders as he helps tug it into place. 

Turning to look at him, Ginny is suddenly overwhelmed with the desperate feeling that she does not want this night to end. To have him leave after they’ve reconnected—and haven’t touched on any of the things that have crept to the front of her mind, lingering like ugly shadows—she doesn’t want him to go.

“Do you wanna come back to my place?” She asks, and for a moment, she worries that she’s been too brazen, too brash, but Arthur only hesitates for a second. 

“Yeah, sure.”  
***  
Her apartment is nicer than she ever thought she would get on a waitress’s salary and the cost of moving, but her Gram-Gram surprised her by giving her the money for her first month’s rent, until she got on her feet. The woman might be vicious on social media, but she cares, and Ginny is grateful. 

Her place actually has two bedrooms—well, the second one is a little cubby of a room for Cash, just big enough for a bed and dresser, but it means he doesn’t have to sleep on the couch—and a comfortable open floor plan that Ginny has tried to make feel as much like home as she can. 

She steps inside, dropping her coat on the back of the couch, biting her lip at the pain in her feet. Good to know these shoes won’t hold up to a long date night. 

She drops onto the couch with a sigh and looks up to find Arthur hovering in the doorway, looking uncertain. It’s such an odd expression for him that she feels as if she’s put a foot wrong, that lurching feeling in her stomach from missing a step. 

Arthur surveys her apartment from the doorway and then finally steps inside, closing the door behind him, and Ginny lets out a breath. “Where’s Cash?” 

“Oh, he’s with his dad for the weekend. It’s just me.” Toeing off her shoes and tucking her feet underneath her with a sigh, Ginny leans back and tugs ineffectively at her dress’s skirt, which has only risen up further. 

Arthur settles himself gingerly next to her on the couch, as if it will eject him if he puts too much weight on it. He glances at her and away, his gaze fixing on a point on the far wall. 

He’s _nervous,_ Ginny realizes, and that only serves to make her stomach churn harder. Arthur Cochran, music professor, cocky snob, is nervous. 

For a moment, there is only silence in the apartment, and then Arthur speaks before Ginny can pluck up her courage to open her mouth. 

“Ginny, what are we doing here?” 

There is tentative nervousness and curiosity in his question, and Ginny relaxes. 

Later, if anyone were to ask her, she would blame the alcohol. It was the bourbon she drank that guided her hand to Arthur’s cheek, feeling his beard scratch against her fingers as she turned his face towards her. 

But she can’t blame the alcohol for what happens next: for the brush of her lips against his, of feeling his breath catch against her tongue, feeling his jaw tighten under her fingers.

Their first kiss is tentative, and she can feel him holding himself stiffly, almost pulling away. Her heart plummets, and she pulls away entirely, dropping her hands and knotting them in her lap, color rising from her cheeks to her ears. 

“I’m sorry.” 

Arthur huffs a laugh, and it ruffles her curls—that’s how close they’re sitting. “No...no. Ginny.” 

The affection in his voice emboldens her, and she lifts her eyes to find him watching her, his mouth slanted in a self-deprecating smile, his brow furrowed. 

His hand curls around her knotted fingers, and she starts to relax at the heat in his touch. “Ginny.” She’s pretty sure it’s the most he’s used her name in one conversation since she’s known him, and she’s pretty sure she doesn’t want him to stop. 

What is going on? This is _Arthur._

But she doesn’t pull away, and she doesn’t move as he clearly struggles to string words together. 

“Ginny.” He seems to think saying her name will fix everything. His fingers squeeze hers. “Are you sure? You deserve someone who is less of a crotchety hermit who lives on a boat and who is much, much humbler. You deserve someone good.” 

She lifts her eyes to his, and the heat and affection and caring in his dark eyes nearly undoes her. “What if this is about what I _want?_ ” 

She doesn’t miss the way his eyes seem to get even darker—pupils dilated, the heat growing. “Is this what you want?” He asks, and she also doesn’t miss the way his voice has dropped to a rough growl, and holy shit, Jesus help her, it should not be as sexy as it is. 

In answer, she stands, and her hand falls away from his. _Shoulders back, head high, fire in the belly._ She has no problem with that last one. 

“Answer me one question,” she says, and Arthur tilts his head up in answer. “What about you and Adams?” 

A shadow falls across his expression, but to his credit, he doesn’t look away. “Adams was a mistake,” he admits, and Ginny feels her heart rise into her throat. 

She swallows. “A mistake as in ‘one kiss is all it was,’ or ‘a mistake’ as in ‘we’re sleeping together?’”

Arthur snorts at that, but Ginny stands her ground, feeling ridiculous in her aching bare feet and dress, but needing an answer. “The former.” 

In answer, Ginny holds out her hand, and Arthur doesn’t hesitate to take it. 

She feels a little foolish, leading him by the hand to her bedroom, like she’s sixteen again, sneaking a boy into her room while her mama’s out, but Arthur’s hand is warm and firm in hers, and she’s not a girl any more, fumbling around with a boy. 

Arthur sinks onto the edge of bed, and Ginny steps up, settling herself between his legs as if she’d done this a million times before and not just thought about it in those few seconds when she let her mind go _there_ , and the only sound is their breathing. 

Arthur is the first one to move now, reaching up to guide her face down to his, his lips warm and insistent. Ginny’s not sure how, but between tongue and lips and the discovery that Arthur likes it when she nibbles on his lower lip, she ends up straddling him, one of his hands pressed against the bare skin of her back, revealed by her dress, and the other resting on her thigh, fingers curled around her leg possessively. 

“Arthur,” Ginny is mortified to find she is whimpering against his lips, but he doesn’t seem to mind, because he surges up and pulls her down in the same motion, deepening the kiss she had started, his tongue sweeping her mouth. 

Pulling back, Ginny rests her forehead against Arthur’s and tries to remember how to breathe. _Lord, help me._ Arthur’s hand has worked its way under her dress and his fingers are teasing the line of her panties and she is absolutely the wettest she has been in a long time. 

From where she’s sitting, Ginny can tell that Arthur is just as interested as she is, and she grinds down against him, eliciting a groan. This time, it’s Ginny who huffs a laugh, breathless and delighted and enjoying the power over the man she has pinned. 

“Ginny.” Arthur’s voice grates over her name, and Ginny’s hips rock forward in immediate response, causing his fingers to curl around her hips, holding her steady. 

“Do you want this?” 

She knows what he’s asking, hears all the unspoken questions: about the age difference, of where this might go, if she will come back to Conley Fork, what they could be. 

Ginny looks up to find Arthur staring up at her. He is holding still, but the tight grip he has on her hips tells her that he is very close to losing control. 

Oh, God, that is not helping. The idea of _Arthur_ losing some of his composure…Ginny shivers at the thought, and Arthur watches as her blue eyes darken with want. 

For the second time in the evening, she draws away, but it’s only to back away towards the adjoining bathroom. “Just a sec,” she swears, and Lord, is that sexy rasp _her_ voice?

Two hasty moments of fumbling under the bathroom sink later, and she returns with a small box. The condoms are actually from the last time she almost backslid with Wayne, nearly four months ago, but Arthur doesn’t need to know that. 

Arthur has removed his blazer and silk scarf in the two seconds she was gone, folding them and placing them gently on the chair that sits in the corner, because it’s Arthur, and of course he does. 

Seeing him like that—shirt unbuttoned, hair slightly mussed from where she’s been running her hands through it—makes the breath catch in Ginny’s throat, and she moves forward before the wave of _want_ overwhelms her and freezes her where she stands. 

He lifts his head as she straddles him once again, and the pleased groan he makes as he slides his hand under her skirt and discovers she abandoned her underwear in the bathroom—she feels that in her bones. 

Then her lips are on his again, and there is only _feeling._ There is only Arthur, moving with her to the center of the bed, the zipper of his pants catching as she works it down with fumbling fingers. 

There is only the feel of his fingers in her, sliding against the wetness that he created, and the noises he makes: growls and groans and her name said over and over, and it’s the most beautiful song she’s ever heard. 

Once he has the condom on, she sprawls back on the bed and shamelessly spreads her legs in the boldest invitation she can muster. Arthur moves towards her, and then his heat is above her and around her, and then in one not-quite-so-smooth slide, _in her,_ and now she is making noises to compliment his: moans and sighs and _yes, Arthur_ and _oh, God, yes, that,_ and always, his name, chanted over and over. 

***  
There are no vows of undying love declared, no discussion of what they are or what they could be. There is no discussion of Ginny moving back to Conley Fork, or of Arthur joining her in Lexington. 

There are only his lips on hers in a final kiss the next morning, and a promise in the text that brightens her screen two weeks later: _I’ll be in town next week. Dinner?_

**Author's Note:**

> “What is life but a series of inspired follies? The difficulty is to find them to do. Never lose a chance: it doesn’t come every day.”  
> ~ Pygmalion


End file.
